“Be right back,” I said. Decker strode across the room toward our friends. Kevin and Justin sat on a bench, bent forward, scanning the foyer in disbelief. Even from across the room, it looked like none of them had slept since Carson’s death. I hung my jacket on a stray hanger and headed toward Decker. Justin’s forearms rested on his legs and his head hung down. He raised his head when Decker sat next to him and patted him on the back. Then his eyes caught sight of me, and he tensed.

Then Kevin looked up. They both stared at me, mouths pressed tight, eyes narrowed, jaws clenched. Decker looked from them to me and ran his hand through his messy hair. He stood and opened his mouth to speak, but then Janna walked out from the interior of the funeral home, into the lobby.

She wore a long, billowy black dress, and her hair was pulled and pinned into a tight bun. Nothing escaped. Tara was the first to greet her. She used that move she had pulled on me—gripping her tight, rocking her side to side. Only Janna didn’t puke. She put her arms around Tara and hugged her back. Then Janna moved on and gripped Justin’s sleeve. And while Justin held Janna, Tara let out a choked sob, and Decker hung an arm over her shoulder.

Now that Janna was there, surely the guys would stop shooting daggers in my direction. I failed at CPR. I didn’t bring him back. But I tried. I was the only one who tried. I touched Janna’s sleeve, and she raised her teary eyes to meet mine.

And then she tensed, like Justin had done on the bench. I stepped back, confused. She raised one finger and shoved it in my face. “You,” she said, seething. “You don’t get to come in here looking all sad.” Justin held her other arm but didn’t pull her back. “You don’t get to breathe goddamn water for eleven fucking minutes and stand here all fine at my brother’s funeral.” She sobbed and wiped her face with the back of her hand. “You don’t get to stand there all perfect like nothing happened when you were—” She groaned. “Where the fuck were you two going? I told you not to touch him. I told you.”

I wasn’t breathing. The edges of my vision started to go fuzzy from lack of oxygen. I remember Decker’s hands on the sides of my arms and his voice to Janna, saying, “Okay, okay,” and him pulling me out into the air. And I remember everyone staring. I remember Decker getting my bright red coat and hanging it over my shoulders and everyone staring some more as I slid my way down the steps, fresh blood on old snow.

Decker opened the passenger door and pushed me inside. “Is this why you didn’t want me to come?” I said once I found my voice. “You knew?” They had all saved my life, and I hadn’t saved his. Like Decker thought, it was a trade. It was a trade that no one else would’ve agreed to.

“I’m sorry,” he said. He leaned across me to turn on the car and crank up the heat, and I resisted the urge to reach out and touch him. To ask him to stay with me. He stood at my open door, one hand on the hood of the car, and looked back and forth between me and the funeral home. He sighed and shut the door.

While everyone grieved together inside, I thought of all the things I should’ve done but didn’t do. I should’ve told Carson flat out. I should’ve called for help before we got in the car. I should’ve continued on to Kevin’s house, where everyone could’ve tried to help. Where everyone could’ve shared the blame. Would any of it have made a difference?

This was why my parents hadn’t come. They weren’t busy. They weren’t selfish. They knew. It should’ve been them grieving. It should’ve been them accepting condolences. It should’ve been them with the dead child in the casket.

I opened Decker’s emergency cooler because it was an emergency. I tossed bags of food and bars of chocolate onto the empty seats, and I hurled a can of soda at the back window. Something in the trunk punctured the aluminum, and a long, steady hiss of air escaped. I tossed the roadside flares aside and found my nearly forgotten vial of pain medication. I popped the top and swallowed a pill dry, feeling the slow path it took down my esophagus.

I waited for it to work, which it didn’t. Which it wouldn’t. This wasn’t a cracked rib or a massive headache or a burn on my palm.

Troy was right. I couldn’t save them. The best I could hope for was to ease their suffering.

So I slid across the emergency cooler, readjusted Decker’s seat, and tore out of the parking lot.

I drove out of town and into the valley again, where I’d felt that pull, where I’d seen that old woman. I drove down the narrow street to the yellow house with the white curtains. I pulled to a stop and stepped outside. I was going to ease her suffering.